They pranced and danced, sideways and backwards, their necks tightly arched and their tails like banners, one of blue flame and the other pink cotton candy.
After the parade came the pony drill. Seated on Cirro and Aurora and cracking vine whips, Pamela and Ponyboy directed the other ponies as they galloped in pairs, fours, and single file around the ring. The pony drill ended with all the ponies on their hind legs, and then the bareback riding began.
First, Ponyboy was ringmaster. He would stay in the ring while Pamela on Aurora led all the ponies out of the clearing—or Big Top as they called it—and into the edge of the forest. Two tall pines growing close together made a perfect archway for entrances and exits.
After a moment, Pamela would enter on Nimbus with a lacy tutu of ferns tied over her hitched-up skirt. Sometimes she would unbraid her hair so it could float out behind more gracefully. Once in the ring, Nimbus would begin her steady dependable gallop, and Pamela would rise slowly to her feet, sometimes shifting even to one foot. When her act was over, she would jump down and curtsy daintily while Nimbus bowed on one bent foreleg and Ponyboy, as ringmaster, pointed to them grandly with his whip.
Next Ponyboy on Luna did all sorts of daring acrobatics, jumping on and off the steadily galloping pony. Sometimes Pamela would drop her role as ring mistress long enough to sit on a log and be several hundred cheering spectators.
“Hurrah for Ponyboy!” she would shout, clapping loudly.
Next Neige and Nuage would be brought in harnessed together, and Pamela and Ponyboy would both ride them at once; first with one standing on each pony, and then one behind the other with a foot on each white back.
Solsken, of course, was too little to be in the show, but he loved to be in the midst of things and blundered about getting in everyone’s way. Finally, Pamela made him a floppy hat that tied under his chin with a big bow, and the circus had a clown.
By the time the circus was over, it was usually quite late. The ride home was always one of Pamela’s favorite times. They moved slowly through the forest, talking and laughing; but when they came to the valley, they always broke into a headlong run. There was wild excitement in the dash down the dark plain, with the night wind in their faces and the ground flying backward beneath the racing hooves. Beside her, Ponyboy crouched low over Cirro’s neck, while from close behind came the rhythmic beat of the hooves of the pony herd.
Pamela was always breathless when they reached the woods near the old barn. There in the shadow of the barn she said good-by while Nimbus nickered and nudged her gently with a dove-gray nose.
In the Pig Woman’s Swamp
ONE NIGHT, WHEN THE circus had become almost a nightly thing, Pamela watched and waited until darkness came, and there was no sign from Ponyboy. So reluctantly, she went to bed. It was several hours later when she awoke quite suddenly. She knew at once that it was very late, and that something had awakened her. She listened intently. What could it have been? Then it came again. Faint but clear—the whinny of a horse. Pamela felt her way to the window. There, directly below, a pale shadow moved. Not at the edge of the trees as usual, but right beside the house.
Pamela suddenly felt that something must be dreadfully wrong and she must hurry. Still in her long, old-fashioned nightdress she scrambled out the window and down the trellis. Almost before she reached the ground, Nimbus was beside her. Pamela felt a surge of fear. She knew that only something very serious would make Nimbus come so near the house. Nimbus knelt quickly, and leaped into a run almost before Pamela was settled on her back.
Faster than Pamela had ever ridden before, they flew through the dark night. Over hills, down into valleys, and then into the forest. Pamela hid her face from the slashing branches. She glanced up finally to find they were racing without pause through the familiar meadow. Very soon they were climbing again, and Pamela recognized the rocky slopes that Ponyboy had called Sleeping Lady Mountain. As they reached the crest of the hill, Nimbus paused for a second and with a gasp of horror Pamela looked down on the endless black water and twisted mossy trees of the Pig Woman’s swamp. A shiver of fear raced over her and Pamela felt Nimbus shudder beneath her; then he plunged downward towards the swamp.
At the edge of the swampland they came upon the pony herd. They were standing close together with their lovely heads and tails drooping mournfully. They greeted Pamela with pleading, forlorn eyes. She noticed that they seemed to be continually looking out across the marshland into the mysterious darkness. Then Cirro began to move forward, stopping to look back as though beckoning her to follow. Pamela urged Nimbus on, but she could feel the terror that shook the little mare’s body, so she slipped from her back and followed on foot.
Cirro led the way through tall marsh grass, over spongy, shaky ground, to a spot where, just ahead, stretched the dark water of the swamp. And there before them a narrow ridge of muddy earth wound away into the darkness. Cirro lowered his head as though sniffing the earth, and Pamela knelt beside him. By the pale light of the moon, she could just make out footprints—human prints—and the tiny hoofprints of a colt. The prints were deeply cut in the spongy earth. They seemed to be headed straight for the center of the swamp.
Pamela turned and looked back at the ponies. As her glance flew frantically from one trembling drooping pony to another, she knew suddenly what had happened. Solsken was missing. He must have strayed away from the herd and into the swamp, and Ponyboy must have gone after him. She was sure that nothing else could have made Ponyboy go into the swamp.
The ponies gazed at Pamela with frightening pleading eyes, and she knew what she had to do. Slowly, she started out over the narrow slimy path.
As she picked her way cautiously along the narrow trail, her mind raced. Where was Ponyboy? Would she be able to help him? Who was the Pig Woman? Pamela stopped. At the back of her mind a thought flickered, but she couldn’t quite get hold of it. It hung there like a name you can’t quite remember. She was almost sure it was something she had read. It had something to do with the Pig Woman, but the rest just wouldn’t come. Somehow Pamela felt sure it was very important. She could almost remember ...
Just then Pamela forgot everything and drew back in horror. Almost under her feet a part of the path squirmed, and a fat black snake oozed away into the slimy water. She stifled a scream.
She looked around her. A thick swirling mist drifted everywhere. Behind her she could not even see the familiar shape of Sleeping Lady Mountain. Ahead and on both sides through swirling mist she could see dark water, clumps of marsh grass, and huge dark shapes that could be twisted, mossy swamp trees. Or could they be crouching monsters waiting to spring? Frozen with terror, Pamela watched and listened. Now all around her she could hear faint rustlings and gurglings, as unknown creatures swam or crept.
Moments of frozen fear crawled by before Pamela could force herself to go on.
She watched each step even more carefully now. From time to time she caught a glimpse of Ponyboy’s footprints or the marks left by Solsken’s hooves. At times the trail narrowed to nothing, and Pamela had to jump to the next tiny island of mud and marsh grass.
After a long time she looked up to see a startling sight. Looming up straight ahead of her, half hidden in mist, was a house. With small dark windows and high teetering turrets, it had a gloomy forbidding look.
Moving carefully forward, Pamela reached a large area of firm but slimy earth. She could now see that the house was sitting on a small island in the midst of the swamp. There was no sign of life. The house looked completely deserted, dark and quiet.
As Pamela approached the house, she noticed that the ground seemed to be full of tiny holes. It felt rough and uneven to her bare feet. She examined it more carefully and then gasped in terror.
The Pig Woman
DAWN WAS NOT FAR away, and by the pale gray light she was able to make out thousands of footprints deeply pressed into the soggy earth. Waves of fright rushed over Pamela as she realized that the island was entirely covered by th
e sharp thin footprints of Pigs!
Too frightened to think, Pamela ran towards the house. She didn’t stop until the heavy door creaked shut behind her. She was in a large room with a few torn and broken pieces of furniture, heavy ragged drapes at the windows, and a damp and musty smell. Ahead was a winding staircase with broken hanging banisters.
Halfway up the stairs she stopped in midstep. From somewhere in the cold dark house came a sweet familiar sound—Ponyboy’s flute! Sadder and slower now, but still the same secret, singing sound. The sound led up the stairs, down a dim hall, up a narrow stairway to a heavy door. The door was locked, but there was a key in the lock. Pamela turned the huge key with difficulty, and the door swung back.
Before her eyes could become accustomed to the dim light, she heard Ponyboy’s startled voice.
“Girl! What are you doing here?”
And then she saw them. In one end of the room was a large iron cage, and in it sat Ponyboy. Solsken lay beside him with his golden head in Ponyboy’s lap.
“I came looking for you,” Pamela whispered. “Why are you in that cage?”
“The Pig Woman,” he said shortly. “She’s turning us into pigs.”
In horror Pamela stared at them, looking for sharp cloven hooves or snout-like noses.
“You—you don’t look at all like pigs to me,” she faltered.
“Oh, we’re not yet. But we soon will be. See that food and water over there? If we eat a bite or take one drink, we’ll become pigs. And if we don’t, we’ll starve. Solsken would have eaten long ago, but I wouldn’t let him.”
“Oh, Ponyboy, what will we do? There must be something we can do.”
“Well, it’s easy to see what you’d better do. You’d better get out of here. The Pig Woman’s out in the forest now, but she never stays long. And if she finds you here when she comes back, there’ll be one more pig.”
Pamela covered her face with both hands in fear and confusion.
What could she do? She was afraid, but she couldn’t leave Ponyboy. And she kept thinking there was something she could do to help, there was something she should remember.
“Girl!” Ponyboy shouted, breaking into her daze. Pamela jumped back in fright. “What’s that in your hand?”
Pamela looked down. She had not even realized that she still clutched the key she had found in the door. And with it were several other keys.
“Keys,” she stammered. “They were in that door.”
“Well, don’t just stand there.” Ponyboy’s impatience was almost frightening. “Try them in the padlock. That one looks just like the one that opens this cage.”
With trembling fingers Pamela slipped the key into the lock, and the rusty padlock squeaked open.
Instantly Pamela was almost jerked off her feet as Ponyboy grabbed her hand and dashed from the room. Down the stairs they flew so fast that Pamela’s mud-stained white gown and her unbraided hair floated behind her and little Solsken could barely keep up. The heavy front door slammed behind them, and they were running across the muddy pig-tracked ground.
They had almost reached the edge of the island when suddenly the air was full of a terrible, beautiful sound. Ponyboy ran slower and slower and then stopped. His eyes had changed again to brown marbles. Solsken, too, seemed frozen to the spot.
At the far end of the island, something was moving in the mist. First dozens and dozens of thin black pigs with sharp white tusks darted forward, their jaws clicking. Then out of the swirling fog came a woman. Long black hair hung around a sharp white face and floated out behind her into the mist. A heavy cloak of dull black feathers fell like two huge wings from her shoulders. She approached slowly, and from her open mouth came the dreadful song:
“Aie-e-e-e, Aie-e-e
Stop and listen to my song,
Listen well and listen long.
Soon its beauty weaves a spell,
Soon you love its tones so well,
Just to hear it you will give
Your greatest gift—your will to live.
Aie-e-e, Aie-e-e”
In vain Pamela tried to pull Ponyboy towards safety, but it was like trying to move a statue. Finally she turned to run herself, but it was too late. All around them was a circle of sharp black snouts, gleaming red eyes and clicking white tusks.
The Pig Woman was closer now, and the air rang with her song. Pamela stared at her with fascinated horror. And then the feeling that she must remember something was back—stronger than ever; she must remember, and quickly!
She covered her eyes and forced herself to think, and suddenly she knew: A story Aunt Elsie had read to her—about ancient times—an evil woman who lured men to their fate by singing and—and ...the rest wouldn’t come. Pamela opened her fingers and looked between them. The Pig Woman was very close now, her strange eyes glowing weirdly in her dead white face.
Pamela closed her eyes again and strained to remember. Someone else sang—that was it! Someone else sang so beautifully that the song of evil was drowned, and its victims escaped.
Without hesitation Pamela began to sing. She didn’t sing an ordinary song like those her father had taught her. This song came from somewhere deeper than memory, and it seemed to sing itself through Pamela’s lips. Without words, as a bird sings of happiness, Pamela sang of freedom and courage and hope, of friendship and laughter and adventure. She sang with all the strength within her.
When Pamela began to sing, the Pig Woman’s face became twisted with anger. She tried to sing louder and louder. As she strained to drown out Pamela’s song, the evil woman’s beautiful voice became hoarse and shrill. Little by little its awful beauty faded until it seemed to be no more than the screeching of an evil bird of prey.
When Pamela felt Ponyboy grab her arm, she knew that she was winning. She felt Solsken push his velvet nose against her hand, but she did not stop singing. She sang until she saw the black pigs, who surrounded them, stop snapping their long tusks and their glowing red eyes changed to dull black. She sang as she and Ponyboy and Solsken began to move slowly backward towards the swamp. When they reached the edge of the circle of pigs, the pigs fell back and let them through.
Seeing this, the Pig Woman clenched her fists and her song became an ear-splitting screech of rage. But when she saw her pigs following after Pamela quietly like a pack of well-trained dogs, she stopped singing altogether.
She jumped up and down and pulled her long hair in fury, screaming, “Come back! Come back! You can’t leave! You can never leave!” But the pigs did not stop. As if they heard nothing but the angry cawing of a crow, they continued to follow slowly and tamely after the children.
Suddenly the Pig Woman flung her clawlike hands above her head, gave a violent scream and, running to the edge of the island, jumped far out over the deep black water. For a moment her cloak of feathers spread out behind her and she looked like a huge black bird in flight. Then she disappeared beneath the slimy surface.
Pamela and Ponyboy watched in horror. The dark water swirled. Bubbles foamed upward and then stopped. Finally all was still.
For a long minute the boy and girl stared at each other in horrified silence. Both of Pamela’s hands were pressed to her mouth holding back a scream, and even Ponyboy’s face was pale.
But soon Ponyboy was himself again. “Cheer up,” he grinned, giving Pamela a shake. “I don’t think we’ll miss her a bit.”
Back to Oak Farm
ON THE WAY BACK across the swamp Pamela couldn’t help asking some questions even though she knew how Ponyboy felt about them.
“Why didn’t the Pig Woman’s song enchant me?” she asked.
Ponyboy shrugged. “Because you’re just a girl,” he said. “It didn’t work on girl things.”
“What will my aunts say?” Pamela asked later. “I’ve been gone a long time.”
“Oh, we’ll make it look as if you’ve been lost in the woods,” he said. “It’ll be all right.”
But Pamela’s last questions Ponyboy couldn’t a
nswer. “What,” she said, “are we going to do with all those pigs?”
They were all following, quietly and tamely, dozens and dozens of thin black pigs with sad pleading eyes.
“Do you suppose all those pigs were boys once?”
“Maybe some of them,” Ponyboy answered. “But some were probably animals. The Pig Woman’s song worked on animals, too. Some of them might even be girls. Her song didn’t work on girl things, but she might have caught them some other way.”
“Oh, the poor things,” Pamela cried. “Won’t they ever change back?”
“I don’t know,” Ponyboy answered. “But they can’t follow me around forever. The ponies wouldn’t like it.”
Pamela was so tired that they had to rest many times on their way across the swamp, so it was almost evening again before they reached the other side where the pony herd was waiting.
The ponies crowded around them wild with joy. They pushed and shoved as each tried to get closest to the children. But when they saw the pigs, they snorted and shied. Ponyboy had to lead them away before he was able to calm them.
When they reached the meadow, they all stopped to drink from the spring and eat some food. By then Pamela was so tired and sleepy she could hardly move.
“You might as well sleep a little while,” Ponyboy said. “You’re so late now, a few more hours won’t matter.”
So they lay down in the soft warm grass, each with a pony for a pillow, and fell fast asleep. All around the meadow the poor ugly pigs lay down and slept, too.
Pamela awakened first. She sat up and stretched and rubbed her eyes. Then she stared in shocked surprise. The ugly black pigs were gone, and all around the clearing were sleeping animals and boys, lovely spotted fawns, wooly bear cubs, lambs and colts, and perhaps a dozen real live boys.
Just then Ponyboy woke up, too. When he saw the boys and animals, he grinned and motioned for Pamela to be quiet. Silently they roused the ponies and rode away from the clearing.
When they were well into the forest, Pamela asked, “Why didn’t you want to wake them?”
Season of Ponies Page 6